


medusa's head was chopped

by Ashesandmint



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Romance, inspired by scenes in the trailers, nothing as morbid as the title implies, or at least my definition of sugary sweet, reylo obviously, some smut, they've got some issues to work through lmao, this is gonna be sugary sweet in the end
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 15:50:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21139214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashesandmint/pseuds/Ashesandmint
Summary: Rey's struggling with her powers, and the Supreme Leader of the First Order takes notice





	medusa's head was chopped

The running doesn’t ache her, she’s been running her whole, entire life. An hour’s fleeing shouldn’t make her this out of breath. Sweat sticks her hair to her forehead and the landings beneath her feet seem to get steeper with every jump. She doesn’t even _know _where she’s going.

_The jungles are holy, _one of the Ithorian natives had said. _Hunting is illegal, desecration is blasphemy and chopping a punishable crime_. She didn't linger on those warnings as she fled from the festivities right into the heart of it; air, she needed air. Which seemed stupid to her now, with the humidity weighing her down and _still _she had to run.

She should be celebrating. Another peoples added to the ranks of the resistance. Offering shelter, offering food, fleets, soldiers. She needs to put on a wide angled smile.

But it’s not working. Rey pants before taking in a deep breath, hunched on all fours. The sounds of the megafuna vibrate through the soil she clenches in her fists. She wonders why there’s a tangy sweet smell in the midst of the dew of leaves and stench of animal remains. When she lets the breath out, with eyes closed and—_it’s not working. _

Rey sucks in through her teeth and screams.

It isn’t working, her force is—she had no idea what was going on. Was it broken? Was _she_? Nothing was getting lifted, she couldn’t feel _anything. _No ebb or small flow, she couldn’t touch the life that was vibrant and there, all around her, mocking. The air felt like it did back on Jakku. Dead.

_Isolated. It’s cut me off. _She reaches, and finds nothing still. Not even the outline of a shadow of a figure she’d left behind. This is the force’s doing, she rationalizes. But it doesn’t stop her directing that thought and igniting the saber at her waist, taking it in her grip and swinging it, buzz and heat, at the nearest tree bark. a snarl fitted firmly on her face.

The shadows of the sun shift with the tree that falls. Casting more light onto her eyes. Rey shouts louder, it doesn’t drown out the thud and crackle of the victim N’lor tree. She shouts so much her head starts to ache, and then she takes another swing.

“Those are sacred, you shouldn’t be doing that.” His voice runs up her spine in speeds of lightning. Rey’s whole body, draped in sweat and dirt stained white clothes, her whole body jerks and the first gut action she does is throw her lightsaber at its direction. The direction of his voice, to her right, where he’s not standing, not materializing. Instead there’s a third severed tree now.

Her mind isn’t functioning, not any level, no matter how hard she wills it. It only says: _Fight. Or run. _

The wanting to scratch at him thrums under her nails. But the saber demonstrated that wasn’t going to work out. Instead she flees, again.

“_The saber,_” He grits at her. “Don’t leave it.”

She stops in her tracks. The pressure in her fingers was deafening. Her blood was aching so wildly she could—so fast she hears it. Her heart was struggling with its membrane, with its muscles, with her _ribs_.

“Nothing's sacred to you” she manages, throat feeling stomach and everything, _everything_ on edge. "Why can't I see you?"

“You haven’t for the past year. I didn’t know why I was seeing, but you weren’t.” His voice is the same melted steel and rough-edged copper she remembers. _A year. _“You’ve been struggling, with the force, haven’t you?” He asks. As if her the fit she’d been throwing didn’t speak for itself, as if her growing panic-schism wasn’t obvious, as if he didn’t _feel her._

“Yes.” Rey says; and its too close to begging, it makes her angrier, makes her grit her teeth. Because of course, he could help, who else knew? About all of this fate that dropped onto her head in that trader’s market in the desert of Jakku. _Who else was she waiting for for twelve months to no avail. _

“Yes.” She says it again. Slow.

**Author's Note:**

> first of all congrats fellow filthy reylos we fucking won.  
secondly: feedback much appreciated!


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